


Simplicity

by andromeda_starline



Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Angst, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, I can't help but love Benny, Independent New Vegas (Fallout), Love my slimy boy, Mentions of religion, Mild Language, Mild Sexual Content, Religious Imagery, in the end no one is good and no one is bad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-17 02:41:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28966992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andromeda_starline/pseuds/andromeda_starline
Summary: 'He seems like a nice man,' she thinks. Those New Vegas boys have quite the reputation for being low-down good-for-nothings but he seems different. Maybe he could take her away from here — help her start anew. She always had a twee, naive sense of life.It’s why she always seemed to end up in trouble.
Relationships: Benny (Fallout)/Female Courier, Benny/Courier
Comments: 4
Kudos: 15





	Simplicity

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to a totally self-indulgent fanfic lol. 
> 
> You ever, after having not played it for about two years, remember that Fallout: New Vegas exists and then write a whole fanfic about it? In that vein, if I missed anything or said something that may conflict with canon I'm v sorry, it's been a while!

It begins simple enough. 

His hand grasps her wrist. Men always think they have the right to put their hands on the waitresses at The Vicki and Vance Casino, and she’s not exempt from that. Other men are not afraid to grab her by the waist or grab her ass — he has the decency at least to grab her in a place that isn’t unsavory. 

He isn’t particularly forceful. It’s more of a way to get her attention. His hand is gentle as it wraps around her wrist. She is talking to another table next to his and the touch takes her by surprise. She can feel his heartbeat through his fingers — it competes with the beating of her own.

“Hey Dollface,” he says gently, locking eyes with her, “when you get a moment we’ll have another round.” His voice is low, almost like a purr and it causes her to slightly blush. She smiles sweetly when he lets go of her. She makes her way back to the bar, but she dares not to look back at him as a coy smile forms on her face. Her wrist itches where his fingers once were, it burns in a deliciously tender way. 

_ He seems like a nice man _ , she thinks. Those New Vegas boys have quite the reputation for being low-down good-for-nothings but he seems different. Maybe he could take her away from here — help her start anew. She always had a twee, naive sense of life. 

It’s why she always seemed to end up in trouble. 

In retrospect, she shouldn’t have talked to her boss from the Mojave Express when he walked into the casino that night. She should have noticed that  _ nice man _ keeping watch on her as her boss told her of a very secret package she needed to deliver as quickly as possible. Maybe if she wasn’t so naive, she would have felt his gaze burn through her the same way his touch did. 

When she dies a day later it was his face she last sees. His words in that same low purr ringing in her ears.

_ “Truth is, the game was rigged from the start.” _

When she comes back from the dead, the first thing ringing in her ears are those words. That face burned in the back of her eyelids. The itch on her wrist won’t go away. She knew something had to be done about it. 

* * *

Making her way to the New Vegas strip isn’t easy. The wasteland is unforgiving and her courier routes normally span between the Mojave Outpost and Goodsprings — not as dangerous as the roads she’s traveling on. The pistol her boss gave her gets good use. Her  _ Papa _ used to say she was a crappy shot, but she’s had a lot of time on the road to hone her skills. There's a lack of stars in the sky but the New Vegas skyline lights her way. It’s a beacon for what’s soon to come.

She’s had many dreams of her first day stepping foot onto the strip. Always had that idea of strolling into a casino wearing a red dress and fox fur stole. Instead, her courier uniform shirt has bloodstains and there is a tear in her skirt. It’s better than a body bag. 

When she was a little girl she used to fawn over photos of Marylin. She would sit in front of a mirror and try to emulate the poses, try to perfect that classic ‘it’ girl smile. She would spend hours eyeing the pages. Being the girl next door in the Mojave Wasteland is hard but she would look at the images on the war-torn magazine pages and hope for that life. Now that she has a bullet in her brain, she’ll settle for Rita. She paints her lips with a red lipstick she’s been saving for a special occasion before she enters The Tops.

* * *

_ He’s a bad man. _ The words are ringing through her head as she makes her way to him on the casino floor. She keeps repeating the words like a mantra. That way what she’s doing doesn’t feel as wrong. As if the words will absolve her of any guilt. It’s the bad man who leads her up to his room. He who so delicately grabs her hand, makes her cheeks run hot. He who leads her so gracefully to his bed. 

He’s a bad man, but he sure is good with his tongue. 

Benny, his name is Benny, she learns, sleeps next to her. She sits up in the bed looking over at her pile of clothes. There’s a knife hidden in the crumpled mess, meant for a special mission, but something is pulling inside her that just cannot carry it out. Something dangerously close to her heart. She lays back down, staring at the rise and fall of his chest until she’s lulled back into slumber. 

She’s surprised when she wakes up alive in the morning.

* * *

The house needs to be put under new management. She thinks maybe she’s just the gal to do it, and Benny has the key. 

So she gets to work. 

* * *

She’s always prided herself on being a good communicator. Working as a casino waitress required a level of tact, especially down in Primm. You never knew what sort of low-down scoundrel, petty gangster, or upstanding clientele would pop in. She abided by the philosophy of “kill ‘em with kindness.” She also made sure on her courier routes to greet each recipient with a cheery disposition.

Before her Wasteland journeys, she used to spend her nights breaking up bar fights and giving advice to the sad-sack losers who entered The Vicki and Vance to drown their sorrows with alcohol and waste their money on the tables and cheap prostitutes. She never expected this experience would be used to garner the good favor of the numerous factions of New Vegas. It’s taken longer than she expected, but she had the trust of the strip and Mr. House was none the wiser. 

When all is said and done, she gets word that the Platinum Chip is with Caesar’s Legion. She makes her way to Fortification Hill.

* * *

The Legion stares at her like she’s a piece of meat — a rabbit thrown into the wolf's den. The leering eyes make her stomach turn over and her veins pulse. She scratches at her wrist, steeling herself as she walks up to Caesar’s tent.  _ Men are all the same _ , she thinks. 

Caesar demands her undivided attention. Seated front and center, he gives her that gaze that tells her he’s undressing her with his eyes. That she has no power here. Her hand brushes the knife that is strapped to her thigh, partially obscured by her skirt. She doesn’t grasp it, but it’s nice to know it’s there. His steely gaze makes her blood run ice cold. Feels like poison. 

In the alcove just to the side, she sees Benny. She expects as much, where the Platinum Chip goes, so does he. The fact that he’s still alive is a welcome surprise. He pitifully looks at her, and yet it sparks something in her. How do you care so much for someone you know you should hate? 

When Caesar gives her the Platinum Chip, he does so while latching a proverbial leash on her. Like a good little dog. 

* * *

The greatest fault Wastelanders have is to underestimate her. She knows what they see, a foolish desert hick with the stars in her eyes. Maybe she was that girl once, but a bullet to the brain can do a lot to change a girl. 

The Legion takes her for an empty-headed no-one. A little girl who got caught up in a mess too big for her. 

When she returns to camp, they lead her to Benny. “I’m giving you a most gracious gift,” Caesar tells her. “You get to decide his fate.” All of this is a game to them. Benny’s downfall by her hand is their entertainment. She wants to spit in Caesar’s face. 

She bends down looking at Benny. She doesn’t see a nice man or a bad man. She doesn’t quite know who she sees anymore. She’s taking a risk, he could betray her yet again. How many times will it take for her to learn? There’s something in his eyes though that tells her to take a chance. 

“Don’t look so sad Pussycat,” he quietly tells her, almost as if he can read her thoughts. Somehow his classic coy smirk causes her edges to soften.

She touches his face gently just so the tips of her fingers graze over his warm flesh. Digits trail down near his neck and she can feel the blood pumping through his veins. The thumping of his heartbeat pulses in her ears. It burns just as much as the first time. She wonders if he can feel her own pulse through the tips of her fingers. 

_ Stupid little girl. _

They see her take Benny’s gun from him, but what they don’t see is the Stealth Boy she had stashed in her bag, switching places with it. They don’t see the bobby pin. They don’t notice that when she stands, her knife is suddenly missing from its holster. 

They don’t have time to think when she places a bullet between Caesar’s eyes.

* * *

With Caesar’s reign over, she thinks it would be easier to travel the Wasteland, but even with many factions on her side, she becomes a moving target. The road back to New Vegas becomes a hotbed— a possibility for death with each step. She keeps on her path, she has a bullet with Mr. House’s name on it. 

She treads lightly, keeps off the most traveled paths. Finds shelter in the many abandoned structures, leans of the welcoming arms of friends and allies. When she lays her head down each night, she sleeps with Benny’s gun at her side. 

She stares at the figure on its handle,  _ La Virgen _ . Her  _ Papa _ used to pray to her every night. Prayers for salvation, a moment of respite from this blighted landscape. He didn’t live long enough for that but maybe wherever he was now, he found the salvation he deserved. She gains a habit, each night before she closes her eyes, of staring at the  _ La Virgen _ and reciting a prayer to her. Prayers for her  _ Papa _ . For New Vegas. For Benny. For herself.

May they all find salvation.

* * *

On the first morning of an independent New Vegas, she wears a red dress. It’s not what she expects. When she zips it up and looks into the mirror she doesn’t quite see Marilyn and she doesn’t quite see Rita. Instead, she looks on its dusty surface and starts to see a ghost of herself. 

It feels so long ago when she was a simple waitress and courier, looking at the New Vegas skyline from miles away. She would dream of the day she stepped on The Strip. On this morning, she woke up in the presidential suite of the Lucky 38. 

The Mojave changes everyone. She ended a fucking war and it scares the shit out of her. Once she was a girl with stars in her eyes and a heart of gold. Now she owned those stars and it caused her heart to harden. There were moments, however, that would pull her back to that young dreamer she once was. She hopes there’s still a chance for her. 

Not much changes at first. The transition is slow. Factions still look at each other with a sense of disdain. Maybe someday they would be fully united but for now, at least they all answer to her. 

* * *

A week later, Benny shows up on the strip. When she let him go at Caesar’s camp he left with a promise that she would never see him again, but Benny was always a good liar. She brings him to his knees — a quick smack to the face with his own gun. She points the barrel at him. It would be poetic justice. A public execution right on the street with his own gun. Let him see what it feels like to get a bullet to the brain. Something inside her stops, maybe it’s that ghost of herself. The waitress from Primm who couldn’t help but smile when a man gently touched her wrist. She wants so badly to be her again, and this could be her chance. 

Instead of loading him with lead, she leads him to her room in the Lucky 38. 

* * *

_ He’s a just man. _ She thinks as she goes throughout her days in New Vegas. She’s learned a lot during her time in the Mojave. That there are bad people and good people but more often than not, people are neither — they’re just.

She gives Benny back control of The Tops, albeit with restrictions. This plan was his first, she just adopted it, however, she now held the power. Still, she sleeps with a knife under her pillow and her wrists cannot help but itch whenever he’s away, almost like they burn when he’s thinking of her. When she sits next to him on The Tops casino floor, he traces the knuckles on her hand and whispers in her ear, “You really light my fire Pussycat.”

When she takes him to her bed, she looms over him. When she moves against him, she does so in a methodically pained way, as if every moment will be the last. She wants every atom in her body to fill up with the sensations, the memory — just her and Benny. She kisses him and asks if he is a God-fearing man. 

Benny candidly bucks up, sending a wave of pleasure through her. “Don’t know much about the Big Man upstairs, baby, but right now, you’re the closest thing to religion.”

Something in her breaks — it melts down the edges of her heart. It’s not the Hollywood romance she once wished for while flipping through the pages of her old magazines, but it suits them. Her hand reaches down to his cheek, touches it as softly as she did once. She lets the warmth of his skin burn her.

She smiles tenderly as she asks, “Will you let me be your salvation, Benny?”

He smiles back in return as he silently switches their positions and fucks her into the mattress.

In the afterglow, they lay together hands intertwined. She concentrates on their pulses. She can feel his heartbeat through her palm. She stares into his eyes until both their heartbeats sync up with each other. It’s these moments where again she’s that simple waitress yearning for the big lights and he’s just that nice man who once touched her wrist. All the dreams, none of the responsibility. In the morning, they’ll wake up and start their days anew. There is a new empire to run after all.

Most things start simple but they rarely end so. 

**Author's Note:**

> Marilyn = Marilyn Monroe   
> Rita = Rita Hayworth 
> 
> Thank you for reading!!! Comments and Kudos appreciated. :)


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